


Come Morning Light, You and I'll be Safe and Sound

by HannahJane



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cartel, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, F/M, Girl! Auston, I'm not sure there's a way to actually describe this fic, Inspired by Sicario, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Power Imbalance, Unhealthy Relationships, actual happy ending, brief descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 22:04:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12850446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahJane/pseuds/HannahJane
Summary: The cartel catches up with her less than a month after the operation wraps. One shitty car bomb in the DEA external parking lot and she gets a busted up knee, two cracked ribs, and a dozen U.S. Marshals as babysitters.Neither of these things make her very happy.





	Come Morning Light, You and I'll be Safe and Sound

**Author's Note:**

> Potential Trigger Warnings:
> 
> Discussions of violence typical to drug cartels  
> Discussions of potentially life threatening injuries  
> Discussions of unhealthy relationships and power imbalances between co-workers  
> Discussions of mental health issues and unhealthy coping skills
> 
>  
> 
> If none of this is your cup of tea, please click the back button.
> 
> Also, in case this was not obvious, I would like to state that this is a story about fictional characters and is a complete work of fiction.

 

The cartel catches up with her less than a month after the operation wraps. One shitty car bomb in the DEA external parking lot and she gets a busted up knee, two cracked ribs, and a dozen U.S. Marshals as babysitters.

 

Neither of these things make her very happy.

 

Auston spends her first three days in protective custody in a haze of hard-core painkillers and zero situational awareness. She thinks she might have hit on the nurse a couple times, has a faint memory of gorgeous blue eyes sparkling with warm humor, but doesn’t feel comfortable trying to get the truth out of anyone around her.

 

When she can remain conscious for longer than three minutes, she finally registers the big blonde man sitting by her bed, a paperback spread open over his jean-clad knee as he watches her. He’s not Saader or Eks or Davo and she can’t even put her disappointment into words. If the man notices her blink extra hard a few times, he doesn’t say anything, just turns his attention back to his book while she drifts off back to sleep.

 

Her silent guardian goes by Marshal Martin and he’s got some pretty strong opinions about how the next four months of her life are going to go, a concept that sets Auston’s teeth on edge immediately. Testifying is nothing new, not in the life of a federal agent, but complete and total lockdown is an entirely new concept.

 

Auston is not proud to admit that she doesn’t handle her new marching orders very well.

 

Luckily, Marshal Martin handles being yelled at by a drugged up fellow law enforcement officer like a champ.

 

The other marshal -- the guy with a mischievous grin that introduces himself as Mitch -- keeps count of the number of time she uses a variation of the word ‘fuck’ on his phone and when Auston finally runs out of steam, he shows it to her. Auston laughs until she cries, big ugly sobs that wrack her body and leave her feeling weak and even more disoriented than before.

 

Mitch smuggles her a contraband Coke and a box of tissues that based on the Finding Dory characters all over them are clearly stolen from the pediatric ward. Neither marshal brings up the very public meltdown as Auston is able to stay awake for longer periods of time and plans for her eventual release begin to take shape, plans that she has absolutely no say in.

 

It takes another few days before she can bring herself to ask about the team. The mustachioed marshal, Komarov, gives her a sympathetic look when she manages to stutter the question out and tell her to ask “Marns”.

 

She does not ask Marshal Marner.

 

If her former teammates had wanted to check on her, they would have. Davo has the kind of connections needed to break through operational security when it suits him and she’s seen him wield that power in similar situations before. Hell, she’s seen Seth break down doors in situations like this.

 

The fact that her team wasn’t there when she woke up speaks volumes all by itself.

 

* * *

The hospital becomes a crappy hotel suite in downtown Arizona becomes a beautiful, large suburban house in a quiet neighborhood of Toronto, Ontario and slowly, Auston’s bruises start to fade.

 

Marshal Martin becomes Matt and Mitch stays Mitch and Auston settles into the routine of sharing a bathroom with nine men again. Luckily, none of them have the same beauty regimen as Eks and no one seems to begrudge her extra-long soaking sessions when she stays in the bathtub until the water turns cold and sets her still healing knee throbbing.

 

She pretends like she doesn’t see the shadows of broad-shouldered men hovering just around corners when she limps from the bathroom to her bedroom after particularly long soaks, ready to jump in the second it looks like her knee will give out on her.

 

Familiarity does not necessarily breed comfort and Auston continues to stick to the fringes of life in the safe house, avoiding her new roommates until one Tuesday afternoon when there’s a perfunctory knock on the door and Mitch simply walks into her room and states that Matty has a headache and is laying down and that he needs a partner to continue upholding his Scrabble win streak against the Disastrous Duo of Kadri and Komarov.

 

Austin is so caught off-guard that she agrees to participate without even thinking about saying no.

 

She learns the following three things while sandwiched between Mitch and the rogue male model who goes by Willy: 1) Nazem Kadri cheats at Scrabble, 2) Mitch radiates heat like a personal sun, and 3) “Matty” is really bad at faking a headache, especially after he comes into the living room less than twenty minutes after the first round starts and sits up against the couch on the other side of Mitch.

 

After that, it gets easier to spend less time in her room and more time discussing the Canadiens power play with Marleau or chirping Matt for how much peanut butter he eats in a given day.

 

In fact, it gets so easy that she doesn’t even think twice a few weeks later before nudging Matt in the shoulder as they stand in the doorway, watching Willy, Naz, and Mitch try to play Twister on the homemade mat they created out of a tablecloth and paper plates colored with crayons. There’s no board and the other men in the room are just trying to bring the whole thing crashing down by telling the three participants to twist into impossible shapes and she knows that someone will be icing something by the end of the night.

 

“Hey,” she says and nudges him again. Matt looks down at her and despite her best efforts, Auston’s breath catches in the back of her throat. It has not escaped her notice (especially now that the strongest medication that she’s on is Tylenol) exactly how attractive Matt Martin is and she’s been inwardly tussling with the realization that she might be attracted to the taller man.

 

“Um, I’m going crazy here,” she says and watches one of his dark eyebrows quirk up, the twitch at the corner of his mouth implying that he didn’t think it was necessarily a short trip. She shoves him gently in the arm, which serves to move him exactly 0 inches and tries her plea again.

 

“Seriously,” she says, trying to convey more earnestness and less infatuation. “The last time I was this bored, I started a prank war that ended in three subpoenas for my unit.”

 

Matt’s other eyebrow joins the other one, but her earnestness must come through because the next day, she finds herself standing in a neighborhood farmer’s market, both Matt and Mitch a steady presence at her side. The flower vendor mistakes Mitch for her boyfriend and gives him an extra daisy to tuck into her hair which he does with a wink and a smile that makes her stomach feel fluttery. She’s anonymous among the crush of suburbanites, just another woman in a sundress, the two men with her blending in their hoodies and jeans.

 

“It's nice to see you smile again," Matt murmurs in her ear as they sidle up to a table piled high with fresh produce. Auston busies herself with inspecting heads of purple cauliflower in the hopes that it will hide the flush that burns up her cheeks. They eat homemade raspberry donuts under the shade of a towering elm and when a breeze kicks up that makes her shiver, Matt slides out of his hoodie and slips it over her shoulders.

 

Auston is feeling good for the first time in a very long time which is absolutely a sign to the universe that she needs to be beaten back into submission.

 

* * *

 

Half-awake in the middle of the night, Auston stumbles down the hall towards the bathroom, only to come to a stumbling halt at the sight of Matt and Mitch wrapped up in a kiss that stops just two degrees below sear, the two men clinging to each other as tightly as humanly possible.

 

Auston calls herself an idiot in three different languages as she flees back to the safety of her room, ignoring Mitch’s voice behind her, begging her to stop. She locks the door behind her and buries herself in the covers, pressing a pillow over her face to keep the sobs muffled. She's had a lot of practice at that part.

 

That night, she dreams about Seth and Matt and Mitch and wakes up reaching for calloused comforting hands and strong, safe arms before realizing that she doesn’t even know who she’s reaching for. The headache that she gets from crying makes it easier to hide in her room all day, politely declining Naz’s offer of food and Willy’s offer of video games.

 

She’s not avoiding the marshals, she’s  _ not _ . She’s just tired and sleeping for a good chunk of the day just makes sense. She is recovering from almost being blown up by a cartel hitman after all.

 

She isn’t avoiding anyone, she’s just trying to walk as quietly as she can down the stairs at 11:36 pm because her growling stomach finally can’t be ignored. Raiding the fridge unearths a pack of oreos, a container of yogurt, and a cheese stick. Satisfied, she turns with her haul in hand to  _ not _ sneak back upstairs and almost turns straight into Mitch.

 

There’s a brief short circuit between her mouth and brain and that probably explains why she blurts out, “I do  _ not _ have a crush on your boyfriend,” before biting her lip hard because seriously, Auston? That’s what you go with?

 

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Matt drawls as he steps into the doorway behind Mitch, both of them focusing on her with laser-like intensity. “Because his boyfriend has a crush on you.”

 

Auston should probably work on her gut reactions because dropping everything on the floor in order to punch Mitch in the chest is no way to respond to declarations of catching feelings. Mitch squawks, Matt laughs, and the bundle of tension in the pit of Auston’s stomach starts to loosen ever so slightly.

 

Mitch kisses her first, soft and warm and a little hesitant, but it’s the power of Matt’s kiss, a little rough and possessive that makes her weak at the knees. Of course, then she manages to pull away from Matt to find Mitch watching them with hungry eyes and her knees are weak for a whole nother reason.

 

“I’m pretty sure I’m standing in yogurt,” Mitch says suddenly, breaking the heated tension in the room and Auston looks down to find that her yogurt lid had split upon hitting the floor and that Mitch’s toes were indeed squishing in peach Chobani yogurt.

 

The laughter bubbles out of her without warning and she buries her face in Matt’s chest as they all begin to laugh.

 

* * *

 

The assistant district attorney is a royal dick and that’s saying something because Auston worked with Jack Eichel and his RBF for three years.

 

“Yes, I’m sure,” she grits out through clenched teeth for the fourth time. “I was in the compound for seven months. That’s where the trucks came through every few hours.” the ADA hmmms and scratches another note on his yellow legal pad, the nib of his pen against paper irritatingly loud in the silent dining room. It’s a very judgmental scratching and Auston feels her hackles rise even higher. He's already asked a myriad of questions that she wasn't prepared for; questions like how she got into character, readjusting to civilian life, and that time that she'd put her fist through a bathroom mirror out of anger and had to get 8 stitches. Being read excerpts of her own psych review had been a less than thrilling experience. 

 

“All right, Miss Matthews,” the pen goes down and the man’s hazel eyes lock onto hers like laser-guided sights. “Let’s have a conversation about Special Agent Jones.”

 

The floor drops right out from under her feet.

 

* * *

 

“Auston, Auston!” she gets halfway across the backyard before Matt catches up. He doesn’t touch her -- probably a good call because she feels like she’s going to shake apart at any moment -- just gets in her path to prevent her from moving forward. It’s probably a good idea because Auston isn’t sure she would have stopped at the back fence, might have vaulted it and run into the field that backed up to the safe house. Run until she couldn't anymore.

 

“Hey,” Matt’s eyebrows are furrowed in concern, but he still doesn’t try and touch her. “Talk to me, sweetheart. You want me to punch the ADA in the mouth? Say the word and I’ll drop that asshole.”

 

Damp streaks down her cheeks and Auston is mortified to realize that she’s crying. There’s no way to stop it and she wants comfort and she can’t have that, not now in the wide open backyard with the ADA watching through the glass French doors that she’d just burst through.

 

_ "Agent Jones' AARs says you were... enthusiastic and a quick student. What exactly is he describing, Miss Matthews?" _

 

“I’m okay,” she says, brushing angrily at the tears. Matt’s face is skeptical, but he doesn’t say anything. Auston sucks in a deep breath and reaches for her calm and drags it around her like a shield. It’s the same thing that she did for all those months in Columbia, the mask that she had to hold in place to keep from screaming every time she watched the brutal horrors that the cartel enforcers inflicted on their workers, mules, on each other, the mask that she’d worn when watching the executions and assassinations and senseless violence.

 

It is way too easy to slip back into the skin of Anita Alvarez, girlfriend of a low level cartel enforcer, a painted doll of a woman who has no opinions about death or extortion or murder. After all, that’s the person that the ADA wants to hear from. The reason he keeps bringing up psych reviews and fixating on the fact that she struggled to reintegrate back to civilian lives after 8 months deep cover with a drug cartel.

 

“I’m okay,” she says again, her voice steadier as the tears retreated. She looks up into Matt, sees him react to this different persona, everything from the set of her jaw to the way she looks up at him through her eyelashes. “Let’s just get this done so I can get too drunk to think.”

 

* * *

 

Auston wakes up the next morning with a mouth that tastes like an old battery, a headache that could cripple a horse, and Mitch wrapped around her from behind like an octopus, a snoring, half-naked octopus. She squeezes her eyes shut and presses back against him, relishing in the way that he holds her tighter. It’s remarkably easier to fall back asleep after that.

 

A few hours later, she’s making coffee in the kitchen when Matt comes up behind her and presses a kiss to the top of her head. When she turns, his expression is the most serious she’s ever seen.

 

“You,” he says, tucking a loose chunk of hair behind her ear. “Deserve a hell of a lot more than that guy ever gave you.”

 

Auston stares, wide-eyed, feeling nauseatingly off-kilter, breath caught in her throat.  _ He can’t know… _

 

“I-I don’t…”

 

“The ADA told me about Jones.” Matt says, watching her face intently as someone comes into the kitchen behind them.

 

Auston drops her mug, escaping in the ensuing chaos as Willy and Naz both try to leap to her rescue, preventing Matt from reaching for her, but just like every other time in her life, she can’t run far enough.

 

Mitch finds her four minutes later and hauls her into the master bath and physically plants her on the edge of the bathtub so that he can bandage her injured foot. Matt comes in halfway through the first aid session and sits down beside her, putting his own bleeding foot up on Mitch’s thigh next to hers.

 

“Sorry,” she mutters at the tile floor, wondering why she can’t do anything right, why she always messes up, doing or saying the wrong thing.

 

Seth had seen how much of a trainwreck she was after almost a year deep cover, had watched her come apart at the seams in that blisteringly hot little room of the compound, had even helped her fall apart in his own way, by walking away once they were stateside again while she was still trying to pick up enough pieces of herself to become functional again.

 

A gentle elbow to the ribs jolted her back to reality and she realized faintly that Matt had been talking the entire time that she had been sinking into her self-loathing.

 

“Jesus, kid,” Matt’s arm comes around her and a kiss was pressed to the top of her head, just like minutes ago in the kitchen, easy and open and affectionate like Matt. “That guy really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

 

It is both a relief and an exercise in humiliation to tell Matt and Mitch about Seth, about the handsome older agent who had taken an interest in her at the academy, who had turned team bonding and training into late night dinners and waking up in each other’s arms. Auston knows that her relationship with Seth has made her damaged goods in the eyes of the DEA, that once the trial is over that she’ll probably be riding a desk for the rest of her career. That it was only by the grace of god that they’d managed to gather the necessary intel on the cartel after Auston had broken protocol by going back for Seth instead of getting out when she was supposed to.

 

Mitch finishes with her food and smiles, warm and soft just like that first time, and leans forward to press a kiss to her knee. “You think that we’d leave you like your old teammate, sweetheart? That we’d abandon our favorite undercover agent?” 

 

“The problem is that I’m really starting to hope that you don’t.” she says softly and Mitch’s response is lost in the crush of Matt’s arms folding around her.

 

That night, she sleeps between the two of them, her head on Matt’s chest, Mitch’s breathe warm on the back of her neck and there are no nightmares.

 

* * *

 

No one can accuse the cartel of originality.

 

They hit the transport caravan just outside the entrance to the courtroom’s underground parking garage, an actual suicide mission in the streets of Phoenix, Arizona.

 

A remote-controlled IED flips Auston’s car into the air like a piece of crumpled paper and she loses consciousness somewhere between being airborne and the crushing return to earth. She comes to in a haze of smoke and gunfire, something thick and wet spilling into her eyes. The DEA agent riding next to her in the back is unconscious, sagged against his seatbelt and the front seat is obscured by smoke, so Auston drags herself out of the broken rear window, shards of glass slicing her arms and hands to hell. 

 

Her head is still ringing from the explosion and the staccato pops of semi-automatic weapons fire are muted as she finally stumbles to her feet, only to take a step and fall to one knee almost immediately. Her disorientation is probably why she doesn’t hear the marshal’s approach until he grabs her, drags her into the cover of a clump of newspaper stands.

 

It’s Leo and he’s bleeding badly, a bullet wound somewhere under the edge of his vest. Auston swears and pulls off the hoodie she’d been wearing over her vest, presses it against his hip as the gunfire explodes around them. It doesn’t do much good, especially when he pushes up into an unsteady crouch and bats her hand away. 

 

Leo peeks his head around the corner of a dark blue Phoenix Sun Times box, pulls it back just as fast and swears so vehemently that Auston can’t help but raise an eyebrow. It says something about their current situation that she knows he’s swearing when he isn’t even speaking English.

 

“Don’t look at me for help!” she yells over a fresh hail of gunfire, bullets slapping the ground around them and pummeling the metal at their backs. Concrete chips fly all around them and she throws an arm up to protect her face. “My dumbass boyfriend wouldn’t give me a damn gun!”

 

“Hope you can shoot a gun like you can shoot your mouth!” Leo says and yanks up his left pant leg, revealing the backup piece strapped to his ankle. A fresh hail of bullets make it impossible to get a shot off, but she feels a little better with the solid weight of a revolver in her hands.

 

Of course as good of a shot as Auston is, the sniper on a nearby apartment building balcony is much better. 

 

She sees the red dot dance across Leo’s throat like an omen of death and has a moment of dreadful clarity. Leo has about 100 lbs and 4 inches on her, but between the gunshot wound and her surprise attack, he goes down.

 

Just as the sniper fires.

 

There is one brilliant moment of pain exploding between her shoulder blades, hot and sharp and she’s falling in slow motion over Leo’s body, able to watch the recognition and the emotion play over his face as he realizes what has just happened.

 

And then all at once, time snaps back into place and her head impacts the corner of one of the newspaper boxes and everything disappears into darkness.

 

* * *

 

Auston wakes up to some serious narcotics flowing through her bloodstream, a nasal cannula that’s making her face itch, and the sound of Davo reading someone the riot act.

 

“... because she should have never been in that position in the first place, Martin! That’s supposed to be what your guys do, right? Protect people?” Auston knows that tone, knows the look that accompanies it. Davo’s being a dick. He’s very good at it, maybe even better than Eichel which is saying something.

 

“This wasn’t an error on our end, McDavid. You might want to look in-house on this one.” Matt sounds tense and she can imagine exactly what he looks like, jaw clenched, shoulders tight, hands fisted at his side.

 

“Bullshit,” Davo snaps and the tension in the room ratchets up another couple notches. “No one on our team would hurt Matthews.”

 

“We’re talking about the case, McDavid,” Mitch’s voice chimes in, dangerously calm and relaxed, considering how uncomfortable the atmosphere in the room is. “Not Auston.”

 

The sound of her name is like a gunshot inside her own brain and as Davo starts avidly defending the honor of his team, Auston forces her eyes open.

 

It sort of makes sense in a karmic way that the first person she actually sees is Seth. He’s always been Davo’s silent shadow anyway, looming in the background until the time to strike is right. She tries to talk, but her throat is dry and all the things that she wants to say to him gets caught in the cotton-feeling of her mouth. 

 

Davo notices she’s awake first and then there is a whirlwind of nurses and doctors and being poked and prodded and asking irritatingly simple questions. Distantly, she’s aware that the pain meds are doing a really good job because according to Dr. Pyler, she’s got a pretty significant hole in her chest, a broken clavicle, a concussion, two broken fingers, and enough stitches that she could have been a body double for Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

 

Auston finally finds her voice after half a cup of ice chips, thanks Matt and Mitch for their bedside vigil, and then looks her former team leader square in the face and tells him to get out of her room.

 

She’s not sure who is more surprised: her or Davo, but before the DEA agent can say anything, Seth says, “Connor,” in that way that used to make Auston snap to attention when she was fresh out of the Academy. Davo’s mouth snaps shut and he nods once tightly before spinning on his heel and walking out the door.

 

“Bye Matty,” Seth says as he follows Davo out the door, as casual as if he hadn’t fucked her head up in a million different ways. It’s such a Seth thing to do that she doesn’t even blink. “I hope you feel better soon.” 

 

The drugs are absolutely to blame for what comes out of Auston’s mouth next.

 

“Go fuck yourself, Jonesy,” she says just as casually. “I hope you get gonorrhea.”

 

Matt chokes on a mouthful of coffee.

 

It should make her mad that Seth just grins at her over his shoulder and then shuts the door behind him, but Mitch is pounding Matt on the back as the other man gasps for air and the drugs are  _ really _ good and so Auston just settles back against her pillows and drifts off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

**5 months later…**

 

"I don't feel like this is going to end well," Auston says, but makes no move to untangle herself from the pile of sweaters and scarves that she's been bundled into. Beside her, Alexandrea Nylander, Willy’s wife hmmms thoughtfully into the insulated thermos of mulled wine that she’s been sneaking Auston sips of when the men on the ice are looking elsewhere.

 

"William broke a finger two years ago, so I’d say that your instincts are pretty good." 

 

On the rink before them, the marshal’s team is warming up for their intramural hockey game against the FBI team. Matt is trying to stick handle past Naz with zero luck and In the goal, Mitch is chirping his teammates with a big grin on his face as he lazily blocks shots. He catches her watching and blows her a kiss, his movements big and over exaggerated in his borrowed goalie gear.

 

“Still not sure how they talked him into playing goalie,” Auston says as she waves back, ignoring the cat calls from her boyfriends’ teammates. She's not allowed out on the ice yet, doctor's orders, but honestly the painful twinge in her chest when she moves too quickly is enough to keep her from complaining too much. It's why Matt has her wrapped up like a mummy even though the chances of her catching cold are zero to nil.

 

But it makes Matt feel better, so she's put up with the coddling and careful handling from both of them. Truth be told, she sort of likes being doted on. It feels safe and comfortable in the way that it never did with Seth who was just as likely to tell her to walk it off. Not that there are a lot of ways to walk off a gunshot wound to the chest.

 

The DEA satellite office in Toronto is a more relaxed operation than her last posting and even though she's been riding a desk for the last few months, she doesn't feel the pressure she had with her former team. Coming home to Matt and Mitch hasn't hurt at all either. 

 

"Let's get a move on, Martin!" One of the Philadelphia players, a tall vaguely grumpy looking ginger, calls across the ice. "We'd like to embarrass you guys in front of your women folk sooner rather than later!" 

 

An explosion of jeers meets the man’s words and the mood on the ice changes quickly from friendly rivalry to annoying competitive.

 

3-1 later, the FBI agents are leaving the ice in mostly good-natured defeat and Auston is unwinding herself from one of Mitch’s ridiculously long Toronto Maple Leafs scarfs with one hand while she uses her other hand to scroll through her Facebook, hoping for more pictures of Marleau’s brand new twin girls.

 

An arm wraps around her stomach from behind with such care that she knows who it is even before Matt’s scruff tickles her cheek with a kiss.

 

“Hi,” she says, turning into his embrace. In skates, he’s even taller than him and she wrinkles her nose at being so up close and personal with his sweat soaked jersey. His cheeks are red from exertion and there’s a twinkle in his eye as he leans down to kiss her. “Nice goal,” she says when they break apart.

 

“She means ‘nice saves’,” Mitch says as he clomps his way onto the bench, face shiny with sweat. “Because I am clearly the best.”

 

“That is of course what I meant,” Auston says leaning over the circle of Matt’s arms to kiss Mitch on the cheek. It strains her chest uncomfortably and she inces, an expression that does not go unnoticed.

 

“You okay?” Matt asks as the rest of the team follows Mitch on the bench, bumping the two of them to the end of the row. A year ago, Auston would have lied, would have toughed it out and pushed through the pain because that was what was expected of her. But she doesn’t do that. Not anymore.

 

“Little sore today,” she says and Matt nods, making eye contact with Mitch further down the line. “Probably could use a nap.”

 

They beg off the post-game bar trip, getting teased good naturedly for it, and Matt tucks her under his arm on the way to the car.

 

“So,” Mitch says, falling in on her other side and linking their hands together. “I’m thinking pizza and the Cornetto Trilogy. And napping. Definitely napping.”

 

“Mitch,” Matt says and there’s something endearing about the whining tone in her boyfriend’s voice. “We just watched that last week  _ and _ you talked along with all of the lines.”

 

“Hey! It is not my fault that you don’t appreciate a cinematic masterpiece like--” the two of them continue to argue as they store their hockey bags in the back of the SUV and help her into the backseat before settling themselves into the front.

 

It is so familiar and comfortable that she can’t keep a smile off her face, especially as Mitch starts actually physically poking Matt in the shoulder, trying to harass him into giving in. It’s a level of happiness that Auston had given up looking for a long time before either of these two lovable goofballs had made their way into her life.

 

“Auston,” she jerks her attention back to the present and finds both men staring at her from the front seat. “You good, sweetheart?” Mitch prompts.

 

“Yeah,” she says, smiling widely. “I’m good. Just thinking about how lucky I am to have two guys who will watch both Princess Diaries movies with me without complaining.”

 

The two men turn to each other and then back to her, mouth opening at the same time as they begin to implore her for mercy.

 

_ Yeah _ , she thinks.  _ I’m good _ .

 

And for the first time in a long time, she actually means it. 

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inspired by the film Sicario which is absolutely amazing, but a little gory if you are easily squicked by violence.


End file.
